My children were always wanting to help me cook. Problem was they never wanted me around when they did it. Like the time Renee wanted to make us breakfast in bed so she got up really early to make us scrambled eggs and toast. She was about five and knew that eggs were cooked in a skillet on the stove. So she, the sweet child that she was, took a dozen eggs from the refrigerator, drug a chair up to the stove, grabbed a spatula from the drawer, climbed up on the chair, put the eggs in the skillet, took the spatula, and beat the stuffing out of the eggs - shells and all. Fortunately she did not know how to turn the stove on so fire was never a worry.
When her little brother Eddie got up he was ordered to make the toast which turned out very well except the toaster wasn't plugged in. However (there is always a "however" where my children were concerned), he loved butter and sugar on his toast so that was exactly what he was going to do. He took a stick of butter and the sugar bowl and climbed up on the kitchen table - I guess to be closer to the toaster - and put the butter on the table then dumped the entire sugar bowl on top of it. Since he was only four he did not realize he was going to need something to mix this up with, but his hands were there and they were better than a spoon any day.
Not to be outdone Eli, our enormous black lab, wanted his breakfast too. There was a fifty pound bag of dog food standing in the corner that we had not yet put away. So, with the faint smell of raw eggs and sugar in the air, Eli pounced on the dog food and ripped the bag just enough to spread fifty pounds of hard, meat flavored chunks all over the kitchen floor.
So this is what we found that very early cold winter day. What a picture that was!
(Sugared toast was a treat my mother made for us when we were very young. She would butter slices of bread and sprinkle a little sugar on top. Then she would put it under the broiler until the sugar just started to turn slightly tan. We had a hard time waiting until it cooled.)